


Unbreakable Heaven

by thursdaysfallenangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x9 coda, Castiel/Dean Winchester in Purgatory, Coda, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdaysfallenangel/pseuds/thursdaysfallenangel
Summary: When Dean and Castiel return to Purgatory, it's not like before. The Leviathan don't really know what to make of it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 144





	Unbreakable Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in 3 years! Thought it would be interesting to explore Dean and Cas' gay angsty Purgatory trip from the POV of the Leviathan who had to endure it.
> 
> As always, thanks to Rachel, who has been reading this crap for 5 years and still hypes it.

It corners them in a clearing, bickering over a dead body.

It’d been tracking them for a mile or so now, had caught on to their scent as they took down a couple of vampires just past a stream that trickled into an open clearing. Roman had crowed with pleasure when it’d sent word of what it had found, had ordered it to capture the angel.

Eve wanted a word with him, with Castiel.

It of course, had no problem complying. It remembers being trapped inside the angel’s meat sack, just one of the thousands of roiling, sloshing, oily waves that had begun to pour from every crack, every weakness in the angel. It remembers when the dam finally broke, the meat sack no longer able to contain the gooping mass of black as it and all its brothers were freed onto the earth.

Of course, it hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the Winchester brothers, or Castiel, while it pretended to be a workman tending to just one of the many assembly lines producing the modified foodstuffs the Leviathan needed to make humans tasty and compliant. Not important enough. Just one of many. But now…

Now it could take the angel to Mother.

It didn’t even seem like the task was going to be difficult. Of course it had heard stories, and had seen Dean Winchester and his angel pet dispatch of two vampires, a werewolf and a rougarou now. But when the fights were over, and they continued walking, they seemed…weak. Pathetic. They barely looked at one another, barely spoke, and when they did, it was to snap.

( _“Hey Cas, that tree look familiar to you?”_

_“Since that tree is an oak in a forest full of oaks, I would say it looks extremely familiar, Dean.”_

_“You know what – never mind.”)_

It remembers stories of the last time the two were here, sucked into Purgatory through the gaping maw in the universe caused by Roman’s banishment. It remembers Dean Winchester, frantic, furious, snarling at the monsters who laughed in his face as he demanded to know, where, oh where was his poor precious angel?

It smirks at what they’ve become now, a bitter mess, a shadow of that dedication, with petty squabbles the only thing they can seem to find energy for. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Whatever care they’d held for one another, it could see no trace of it now.

Their misery with each other’s company can only amuse it for so long. So it corners them.

It’s another idiotic fight.

( _“I think we’re going around in circles. We’ve seen this corpse before.”_

 _“No Dean, my sense of direction is excellent. That’s a different corpse.”_ )

Dean Winchester leans over, flashlight pointed directly into the face of the putrid and rotting flesh currently decomposing on the forest floor, and it takes its chance, charging directly for the angel with a loud yell.

The angel flicks it aside with barely an effort, and it hears Dean Winchester say, “You’re right, it is a different corpse,” as its body hits the ground hard.

It tells Dean Winchester, with relish, how his idiot vampire friend had been killed. It hopes the human realizes they will kill his angel pet in a far worse way.

They want a Leviathan blossom.

It knows how to get the angel to Eve.

***

It leads them along a path that runs parallel to a stream. This path will lead them to a large angel trap, sigils that their kind had carved long ago. Fortunately enough Leviathan had died there that the blossom would be readily available. It was the perfect set up.

He can feel tension rolling off the couple at its back in waves. It’s the same silence it had witnessed between them before, but thicker, somehow. It can sense that its presence being known to the two hasn’t meant a thing – the tension would have existed whether or not it where there to see it.

“Do you have a name?” the angel asks, and the leviathan glances back at him.

“You’re really going to ask Fangface if he has a _name_?” Winchester asks derisively, and the leviathan smiles to itself.

“I didn’t enjoy the silence.”

“Yeah, you got a habit of taking that personal.”

“ _Dean_ ,” the angel snaps, in a tone that clearly reads _not here, not in front of the monster_ , and Winchester falls silent again.

It only lasts a moment, but it’s the angel who breaks it again. “Sorry about Benny,” he says, his voice full of regret.

The leviathan turns its head slightly, scarcely believing its luck. This show is better than all the bibbings it had been lucky enough to see combined.

“I owed him my life,” Winchester replies without missing a beat, and it sounds accusatory. The leviathan wonders who he’s accusing. “He sacrificed himself to get Sam out of this place.”

“Well, this place will bring that out in you. Guilt. It was my fault the Leviathan got out, it was my fault we were here the first time – I carry that guilt every day.”

The leviathan rolls its eyes. Self-flagellation was the worst form of begging for forgiveness. This was beginning to sound like nothing but two men determined to think the worst of themselves. Not particularly entertaining.

“I know you’re sorry Cas,” Winchester says, sounding as if the conversation is over. “About Bal. About mom.”

“I was talking about Jack,” the angel bites out before the leviathan can ask what the angel did to the Winchester’s mother.

There’s a second of silence and the leviathan chances a look back. Winchester looks pained. The angel looks agitated. Neither look as if they want to be there.

The angel seems to determine that Winchester is going to say nothing, and continues, “I already apologized to you. You just refuse to hear.”

“Sorry but, uh. Maybe if you didn’t just up and leave us.” Poor Winchester. He sounds bitter.

“You didn’t give me a choice,” the angel grinds out angrily. “You couldn’t forgive me, and you couldn’t move on. You were too angry.” Now he just sounds resigned. “I left, but you didn’t stop me.”

The leviathan does not understand what love is. They were not built for it. But devotion, oh yes, it understands devotion. It, just one of the many arms of the writhing, slithering mass that is Eve’s first child, Leviathan. It knows devotion. The two men behind him are drowning in it, choking on it.

Their suffering amuses him, and when he sees Winchester is not going to answer, he applauds them for it. “You two are better than Showtime.”

Later, when it and its friends drag the angel away from Winchester’s slumped over body, it hopes that he will not collapse under the weight of his own failure to this human before they have too much fun with him.

***

The leviathan tries to ignore it, to rise above its curiosity in the pointless, irritating emotions all these earth beings seem bound to. It is the beast that Purgatory was created for, a place of pure, instinctual, base _need_. But it has been trapped here again for what feels like centuries, and there are only so many creatures it can kill for the sport of it. The buzzing, raw electricity of the angel’s grace had called to it the moment the pair had stepped through the rift – riling him up should at least be fun.

“So what was with the whole jilted lover routine back there?”

Castiel’s jaw works, and the leviathan can see him debating whether it will be worse for him to answer or stay silent. It decides to encourage him.

“Last time you two where here he damn near ripped people apart with his bare hands demanding to know where you were,” it says cheerfully. “Nearly became a monster himself trying to find you, muttering to himself at nights, calling your name.”

Castiel glances sharply at him, and it grins wider, shows a hint of its real teeth. “Didn’t think your conversations here were private, did you?” it asks. “Don’t glare at me like that, I’m on your side. Humans,” it snorts, “the whinier they are, the more bitter they taste. I may not know what he was bitchin’ about back there, but I can see why you keep leavin’ him.”

The angel’s throat is around his neck so fast it takes the other two leviathan walking with them a few seconds to notice, precious seconds longer to rip him away. “Don’t make me smite you,” the angel growls roughly.

The creature laughs around the tightening of its throat. “I think you’re confused about who’s caught who here.”

Castiel studies it a second, a cold look in his eye, before turning to face the way they had been heading. Towards Eve. “Dean is very angry with me,” he said quietly, calmly. “This time, he should be able to leave this place without me.” A look the leviathan couldn’t even pretend to understand flits across his face. “I did what I had to do.”

He starts striding forward again, and the Leviathan scramble to keep up, to maintain the semblance that they are his captors, marching him to his reckoning, and not an entourage escorting a broken man to a gallows of his own making.

The leviathan doesn’t care either way, as long as it gets the angel to Mother. “You just left him again,” it says, hoping to twist the knife deeper. “Never thought I’d find a monster who enjoyed hurting a Winchester more than anyone down here.”

“Dean sees me as a responsibility,” Castiel tells it in a clipped tone. “The responsibility ends when the burden of my involvement in his life does.”

It rolls its eyes. “How noble of you.”

“I _always_ come when he calls,” the angel bites out. “I can’t help it if he doesn’t—” he cuts himself off, and the Leviathan is alarmed to find out this has turned more into a therapy session than a true taunting. Casting its mind for something to truly hurt this angel, no less than he deserves, it remembers a djinn it’d run into a few years back, wandering the outskirts of the forest and bragging to anyone who would listen about having been inside the great Dean Winchester’s mind, about knowing his weakness, his deepest fear.

“You think you’re being sacrificial,” it sneers. “A holier-than-thou angel removing himself from the lives of the people who couldn’t care less about him. But you think we don’t know fear here? Fear is our lifeblood. It’s what you’re breathing right now,” it lazily waves a hand through the air. “You know what your pal Dean sees when he closes his eyes at night and is alone with the darkest parts of his twisted and broken mind?”

The angel is silent, but the leviathan knows he’s listening.

“He sees _you_ , Castiel,” it says with great relish. “He sees you with your skin sloughing off, blood on your hands, a maniac smile on your face as black gore pushes out of your sockets. He sees you as nothing but an empty vessel for the devil, no kindness in your eyes or warmth to your touch, your very voice mocking what you once were, who you are to him. He sees you there, standing in front of him, completely unreachable.” The leviathan laughs, a disturbingly high-pitched sound, and its companions laugh with it. “Dean Winchester may be good at bringing you back from the dead, but how successful has he ever been at saving you from yourself? We will bring you to our Mother, and she will punish you for what you’ve done to us. She will twist you and maim you and _infect_ you until there is nothing left but hunger and darkness and terror and then she’ll release you onto the earth so that Dean Winchester will have no choice but to hunt down her newest child, the monster with your face.”

The angel had gone white as it’d spoken, his fingers doing an agitated dance at his side. They’d reached the mouth of Mother’s cave, a cluster of Leviathan blossoms blooming at the mouth in a mockery of what the angel had come here, and failed, to do.

“It almost makes this unenjoyable, that he won’t mourn you,” the leviathan tells him in disappointment.

Castiel lifts his head, and the Leviathan is struck by the realization that they’re not so far apart in age, a sensation it’s not used to. The angel looks tired. He looks done. “I –” he opens his mouth and stops abruptly, his gaze focusing on something in the distance.

The leviathan turns, but all it sees are trees.

“What’s it doing?” another of them asks.

The leviathan is irritated. It’s had it’s fun. Time to earn Mother’s praise. “Hey. Buddy,” it says, snapping its fingers in the angel’s face.

A blade abruptly enters its stomach, and it’s the last the leviathan knows.

***

There are whispers, traveling swiftly through the trees of Purgatory and among their kind. The angel was captured, and he was being taken to Mother.

The Winchester was not of any consequence, they were told. Ignore him.

But how could they, when his delicious grief filled the air? When he seemed hellbent on being attacked, his hoarse voice screaming out, “Cas? CAAAAAS,” into the still Purgatory air?

They found him at a tree, hanging off the trunk as if it were the only thing supporting his weight. He was muttering to himself again.

The Leviathan had long memories. When Dean Winchester muttered to himself, his sadness became so thick it hung, heavy, in the back of their throats. It made them ravenous.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he sobbed, and it took all their restraint to hang back.

They were monsters, after all. They’d seen this story before. And they knew what he feared most.

Letting him leave without the angel would hurt far worse than anything they could ever do to him.

Still, even inconsequential, they stood and watched the Winchester meet his reckoning. They watched him pray, and they watched him cry.

They watched him get down on one knee, an act so subservient and raw that it turned those who were watching away from him, and from his prayer.

Leviathan love the taste of anguish, sharp and jagged and painful. But they could not understand love.

When the angel and Winchester managed to escape their realm for a second time, they couldn’t help but feel relieved they’d been left to their darkness once again.


End file.
